


United Under Nilfgaard

by quills_at_dawn



Series: Witcher Shorts [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Pollen, Snark, Vanilla, flaming bollockwort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 07:50:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18361739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quills_at_dawn/pseuds/quills_at_dawn
Summary: Roche and Iorveth join forces with Nilfgaard to push the last of the Redanian troops out of Velen. After they ingest a strange plant, things happen while they're alone in Roche's tent.





	United Under Nilfgaard

**Author's Note:**

> Shameless smut, consider yourselves warned.  
> I just love writing these two...  
> Also, a thank you to everyone who read [The Lockbox](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16910904) despite the tags! <3

**Prologue**

 

“Nilfgaardians are bad enough but now they expect me to work with that bloede dh’oine?” Iorveth grumbled as he threw a spare shirt into his pack.

“We’re all allies now,” Ciaran reasoned, rolling his own folded shirt around a packet of lembas before stowing them in his saddlebag.

“Yes, but why Vernon Roche? Did it have to be that ploughing Temerian, of all people?”

“Who would you rather it be? After all, we want to win, don’t we?”

Iorveth glared but said nothing.

 

* * *

Iorveth crested the hill with his troops at his back and looked ahead to the camp atop the next hill. And frowned.

“Bloede dh’oine… We’ll be knee-deep in nekkers by nightfall! What kind of idiot sets up camp in a place like this?” he demanded of Roche as he dismounted, glaring at a hot pink orchid on the branch he hitched his horse to, “Gods, this is Flaming Bollockwort, its pollen is a powerful aphro—.”

“Never mind the flowers!” Roche scowled, “I didn’t choose the location, the Nilfgaardians did. They just looked at the map and chose somewhere strategic. They don’t know any better, they don’t have any of _this_ in the South,” he continued, gesturing vaguely at the openly hostile environment.

Iorveth fell into step with him as they headed for the Nilfgaardian command tent.

“Didn’t you advise them? After all, this dump is your domain. Or don’t they listen to you?”

“And you? Arriving practically at nightfall? Did your unerring sense of direction abandon you?”

“I was hoping to arrive _after_ nightfall so I wouldn’t have to see you and your ridiculous dishrag.”

Roche glared but bit back a retort as they marched into the tent.

Half an hour later, they stepped back out with a rolled up map and their orders in writing and they retreated to Roche’s tent, right on the other side of the camp.

“You’ve been segregated?” Iorveth asked, eyeing the Nilfgaardian tent with a sun banner flying over it.

“I segregated myself. One of the few privileges of being a commander.”

Roche stalked into his tent, dumped all the papers onto the table, grumbling under his breath, then unrolled the map and used a pewter mug, an inkwell, his dagger and a rock to weigh down its curling edges.

He turned to Iorveth and as they looked at each other, suddenly alone, a new awkwardness descended.

They’d known each other for what felt like a lifetime, but only as enemies. Now Temerians and elves were united under Nilfgaard against Redania and they both stood there, liveried in the colours of the empire, staring at each other as if they were strangers.

Roche cleared his throat and turned to the map.

“What do you think?”

They both studied the map, discussed their numbers and options, gamed out a few strategies, and were just throwing themselves into the detail of the plan they’d settled on when a Nilfgaardian aide interrupted them.

“The commander wonders if you will join him for dinner.”

“Please thank him for the kind invitation. Unfortunately we still have our preparations to work on,” Roche answered smoothly, “One of us arrived very late.”

“What was that for?” Iorveth demanded once the aide had bowed out and was well out of earshot.

“I’ve been dining with Nilfgaardians all week and I’m heartily sick of it,” Roche explained succinctly, moving a white chess piece denoting an elven archer unit, “I’d rather dine with you.”

He glanced at Iorveth.

“But I should have asked you first. You probably want to go to your tent.”

“I told my people not to bother with a tent for me,” Iorveth shrugged, “I’ll find space in one of our tents when we’re done here.”

Roche’s gaze lingered on the elf a moment.

The former Blue Stripes captain had long known that elves slept in tangled piles but he’d always assumed it was out of necessity rather than choice. It came as a surprise that they should continue to do so in tents or houses, that it was clearly through preference. He still had a lot to learn about elves.

“It’ll be curfew in an hour. Remember to go before then.”

“Curfew?”

“One of the soldiers got up and pissed on a nekker nest a few nights ago so it’s been curfew at sundown since.”

Dinner was brought — a few choice cuts of roast venison under a netted dome to keep the flies off it, some overdone potatoes, Temerian apples, and a pitcher with a linen cloth draped over it.

He caught Iorveth looking at the pitcher in interest.

“Don’t get your hopes up. It’ll be lemonade. _Again_ ,” he grumbled, “Nilfgaardians and their ploughing lemons…”

“Bet it’s not as sour as you are,” Iorveth said drily.

“Gods, they’ve even put a flower in it this time,” Roche scowled as he poured them each a glass.

Neither of them even dared sit at the table to eat like civilised people so they stood in silence, drinking, and pretending to pick at the food.

Both made half-hearted attempts to return to the map and their plans but they didn’t need more time to firm up their plans and pretending to only strengthened the realisation that they’d worked well together. Too well.

They knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses, they knew each other’s preferences, they knew each other’s minds.

They referred to the same past battles, the same events, the same tactics. They spoke in half sentences and still understood each other perfectly.

They bickered, constantly, but that only threw into relief how comfortable they were in voicing differences and dissents and inaccuracies, something both hesitated to do with the more formalistic Nilfgaardians.

“Seriously, why are we here?” Iorveth finally asked in a mad attempt to beat off the thickening awkward silence, “They really didn’t consult you?”

Roche mulled over the answer darkly before answering, his gaze still averted.

“They did. We had a different location planned and a different plan of attack. But while we were on the road, we received new instructions and a new meeting place,” Roche said quietly, “There have been leaks. Among the Temerian ranks. It doesn’t sit right with some of the men, fighting alongside Southerners against fellow Northerners. We’ve been rooting them out but…”

Roche suddenly looked tired and he ran a hand over his face.

Even so, the Nilfgaardian colours suited him, Iorveth decided. Roche looked stern and uncommonly handsome in his black tabard bordered in gold and the large sun on his chest made it look broader. Even his chaperon was now patterned with tiny suns, and the Great Sun brooch that held the folds in place gave it a much needed dose of intentionality.

A Northern Nilfgaardian. A new breed.

“You don’t have that kind of problem, of course.”

“We have different problems,” Iorveth shrugged then felt compelled to go on as Roche went on staring, “We’re trying to build a multi-racial society but some of the Aen Seidhe — some of my Scoia’tael — see our new state as more _ours_.”

“Because you fought for it,” Roche murmured, “And because you’ve never had one.”

Uniformed in black, Iorveth looked every inch the deadly assassin and he had traded his red bandana for a length of black silk embroidered with a Nilfgaardian sun that sat right where his missing eye should have been.

Instinct told Roche that Iorveth had only dressed this way for the military operation but then again he’d been a Nilfgaardian officer before, in the Vrihedd. Perhaps it came more naturally to him.

The cool green eye and the blazing gold sun seemed to look straight into his soul.

“I’ve never seen what’s behind it,” Roche said, unconsciously voicing his thoughts and reaching out to touch Iorveth’s cheek.

“You can look, if you want,” Iorveth said, lowering his gaze, tilting his face very slightly at the rub of Roche’s thumb against his cheek, “But it’s ugly.”

Roche snorted.

“You’re a lot of things, Iorveth, most of them bad. But you’ve never been ugly.”

Iorveth looked into Roche’s eyes, his breath quickening, his gaze dropping to Roche’s firm mouth, and then he paused.

“What’s happening to us?”

Roche’s eyes narrowed.

“What? You think the Nilfgaardians put something in the water?”

“Wait… Show me the flower,” Iorveth said urgently.

“What flower?”

“The flower! The one in the lemonade!”

Roche lifted the napkin off the jug and Iorveth made a strangled sound when he saw the blossom and two pods.

“Flaming Bollockwort! _Roche!_ It’s an aphrodisiac!”

Roche squinted at the flower.

“Surely not. Why would they put that in our drink?”

“ _They don’t know any better!_ ”

“Well, how was _I_ supposed to know?!”

“Because I told you, you cretin!” Iorveth said through gritted teeth.

Roche swirled the lemonade, watching some of the vibrant pink of the petals leech into the liquid.

He turned to Iorveth.

“How do we fix it?”

“We _can’t_!” Iorveth ground out, “There’s no remedy!”

“Fantastic,” Roche growled, “And I suppose this is one of those situations where we lose our minds if we give in?”

“The opposite, actually.”

“What-?” Roche stared, nonplussed, his brain hazy from the effects of the potent aphrodisiac.

Slightly flushed and radiating indignation, Iorveth was at his most beautiful.

“Fine. Let’s just get it over and done with,” Roche said, pinning the elf against the table.

“Wait-! _Wait!_ Why would _you_ get to top!” Iorveth spluttered, splaying his hands over Roche’s chest in a half-hearted pretence at pushing him away as Roche went straight for one of his ears, giving it a long, rough lick, “You got us into this mess!”

“Oh, come on, Iorveth,” Roche groaned, easing a knee between Iorveth’s thighs, “Could you not be so contrary just this once? We’re in a situation here!”

“Because of _you_! I _told_ you that flower is—!”

“Gods, Iorveth, how can you _still_ be going on about flowers?!” Roche groaned then mouthed Iorveth’s ear, his hands already trying to find their way into the elf’s clothes, “Look, I’ll make it good for you, I promise. Just tell me what you want, I’ll do it.”

Iorveth wanted to protest but then Roche pressed his thigh against him insistently and so he could only look up at him, speechless, lips parted, already panting slightly.

Roche watched him, mesmerised and ravenous, and gently pressed the tip of his thumb between the pouty lips, and a strangled sound escaped him when Iorveth instinctively sucked on it.

“You can have me next,” he offered, desperate, “Whatever you want.”

Iorveth stared at him balefully while he ran the flat of his tongue up Roche’s thumb, but the starved look in the human’s eyes only increased the heat in his loins and so he caved. 

“Oh, fine!”

He felt the heat of Roche’s mouth and the scrape of his teeth at his throat and bit back a moan, grinding down against Roche’s thigh between his and pawing at his clothes. He managed to drag the tabard off him and pulled impatiently at the ties of the shirt under it, eyes lighting up when he finally managed to get his hands into it, reaching in and splaying them over Roche’s back before raking it with his nails.

“Roche! Hurry _up_!”

Roche, who had been busy ripping open the laces on Iorveth’s trousers, complied by sinking his hand in and grabbing hold of Iorveth, watching in dark satisfaction as Iorveth threw his head back. He knelt and leant forward to trace the lines of the abdominal muscles leading down into the loosened trousers with his lips before carefully drawing Iorveth’s member out.

The elf was already thrusting desperately into his hand and Roche put a restraining hand on the elf’s hip and worked his shaft, twisting his hand around it, rubbing his thumb over the crown, mouth watering at the sight of the pretty, pink prick.

Before he knew what he was doing, he’d put his mouth to it and Iorveth, who hadn’t been expecting it, bit one of his hands to keep from howling while the other gripped the table so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Roche swiped the flat of his tongue along the slender member, mouthed it, nuzzled it affectionately, pressed a wet kiss up against the bottom of the crown.

“Roche!” Iorveth finally managed to rasp out but melted into another moan as Roche took the head of his erection into his mouth, “Ah—! Deeper!”

Roche obliged, tongue stroking the hot length, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked as hard as he could before pulling away, letting Iorveth’s now shiny cock pop out of his mouth.

“Again?” Iorveth begged breathlessly.

Roche obeyed and when Iorveth ripped his chaperon from his head to fist his hair, Roche took him deeper.

“Enough! Enough! Enough!” Iorveth gasped dragging him off.

Barely catching his breath, he turned around, gripping the table edge to brace himself, then glanced over his shoulder at Roche.

“What can we use—?”

“I have oil,” Roche reassured him, striding over to where he’d left his equipment in a pile.

“Why do you have oil?” Iorveth asked, equal parts suspicious and impatient.

“It’s sword oil!” Roche snapped, fumbling to open it as he buried his face against Iorveth’s nape desperately, pausing to bite the back of his neck.

He managed to get a generous helping of oil onto his fingers and hooked an arm around the elf to hold him as he touched his fingers to him, deliberately sliding down to press just behind his balls, making Iorveth buck violently. He slipped one finger then another into Iorveth’s heat then muffled a groan between Iorveth’s shoulder blades and palmed himself vigorously as he fingered him.

“Get on with it, Roche, or I’ll cut off your cock and use it without you,” Iorveth warned darkly through gritted teeth.

More fumbling then he felt something hot, hard and slick press against him.

“Bloede dh’oine… Why are you so _big_?”

Iorveth hung his head, gripping the table, his whole body shuddering as, teeth gritted, Roche start to push, very slowly and very carefully, reining in his urge to thrust hard by reminding himself that if he hurt the elf even the world’s most potent aphrodisiac would not save him from certain death. 

His forehead beaded with sweat at the effort and cold relief flooded his burning body when the head of his erection slipped in. He began to roll his hips, easing himself deeper and Iorveth gasped at the heat and girth of his cock.

Once he was fully sheathed, Roche wrapped his arms around Iorveth and held him close, shaking with relief as the mad, red need receded momentarily. They stayed like that, locked together and rocking gently, for a while, but eventually the urgency seeped back. Roche started to pull back but Iorveth’s body clenched hard around him and they both swallowed loud moans. Roche pushed back in and tightened his hold on Iorveth desperately, sucking his shoulder to consume something —  _anything_ — of him.

“Try again,” Iorveth begged huskily, wracked by the ice and flame of want and the need the aphrodisiac aroused in him.

“All right, but try to relax or you’ll take my cock off!”

“I am _trying_!” Iorveth hissed and rocked back against the human in annoyance.

Roche bit back a groan and snapped his hips in retaliation a couple of times, falling into a rhythm.

“Harder,” Iorveth whispered, all the exposed parts of him gleaming with sweat in the low light.

Roche obeyed, growling.

“Harder! Put your back into it!”

Iorveth bent over the table and spread his legs a little more and Roche bent over him, gripping the far end of the table for leverage, slamming into Iorveth with each powerful thrust.

Soon they both felt the bright burning need dim down to a painful ache that let more of the physical pleasure seep through and Roche rolled his hips more deliberately, luxuriating in Iorveth’s tight heat, the urgency building up again.

He grabbed Iorveth’s happily bouncing cock in his sword-calloused hand and gave it a few rough strokes, making the elf whine.

“May I come inside you?” he rasped out hoarsely, mouthing one of the long ears, slowing his thrusts.

“Yes!” Iorveth gasped then sucked on the fingers Roche slipped into his mouth.

He bit down on them as Roche bit his shoulder and came hard inside him, filling his already overheated body with even more fire. And there they stayed, Iorveth still gripping the table, Roche still clinging to him, their space under the tent still and silent but for their panting breaths.

“Bloede dh’oine…” Iorveth mumbled on principle.

“The bed,” Roche managed to articulate after one last swipe at Iorveth’s sweat.

Another combined groan as Roche pulled out then they both staggered and collapsed onto the narrow litter, a tangle of nerveless limbs and stray bits of untucked and undone clothing.

“I feel disgusting, my clothes are full of sweat,” Iorveth muttered, pulling off his shirt.

He sat up to make a few futile plucks at his trousers then fell back again limply.

“Can’t be bothered.”

“I’ll do it for you in a minute,” Roche mumbled, putting an arm over his eyes.

Iorveth snuggled up against the human for warmth, falling into a half-doze as Roche toyed with his hair idly.

“How long does the effect last?”

“A few hours or until we work it out of our systems,” Iorveth yawned.

He just wanted to sleep himself into oblivion but he could already feel the familiar stirring in his loins.

“Roche?” he ventured after a few minutes.

Roche pretended to sleep for a moment longer but he too could feel the heat mounting.

“All right,” he sighed, “Come here.”

He rolled over and helped Iorveth wriggle out of his trousers then threw the soiled garment aside and levered himself back up between the elf’s thighs, nuzzling and mouthing the hardening member.

“Ah! Roche!”

“Should I stop?”

“No!” Iorveth growled, fisting Roche’s hair as he took him into his mouth, “But what about your clothes?”

Roche pulled away then dragged his chain mail vest, shirt and undershirt off all in one go and lobbed the lot across the tent.

“You are the most infuriating elf this side of the Great Sea,” Roche stated before descending onto Iorveth’s pink cock with renewed gusto.

Iorveth was still slick so Roche had no trouble easing a couple of fingers into him to stroke him from the inside as he continued to ravish his pert member with licks, alternating between rough and wet, smiling smugly as the elf squirmed.

“Wait, wait! My turn,” Iorveth gasped in strangled tones, fighting the orgasm that threatened to wash over him.

He pushed Roche aside.

“Trousers off.Where’s the oil?”

“The table,” Roche indicated vaguely.

He kicked off his boots and his trousers, pausing to admire Iorveth’s lithe form as it darted to about the tent then returned to him. He didn’t protest when Iorveth knelt down and pushed him onto his stomach. He tensed slightly as oil slid down his crack but Iorveth lent forward to nip his neck and the scent of the elf’s arousal washed over him, dulling everything else.

Slim fingers probed him and eased in, reaching and feeling, inching ever deeper, and Roche jumped at the lightening pleasure that jolted through him when the long fingers brushed against the little bundle of nerves deep inside him.

“Iorveth!”

“I know,” the elf purred and bit his ear, then pressed deeper.

Roche hugged his pillow, biting it to muffle his moans, his body bathed in cold sweat with every fresh wave of blinding pleasure, until the pressure became too much to stand.

“Iorveth!” he whispered desperately.

“Go on,” Iorveth encouraged generously, almost lovingly, still thrusting his fingers inside him rhythmically.

And so Roche came with Iorveth’s long fingers inside him and Iorveth’s hand wrapped around his painfully straining cock.

Breathing ragged, he wondered if Iorveth would be satisfied with this but no, the elf knocked his knees apart and settled behind him. He was disgusted to find Iorveth’s long, slender cock slipped in easily and at the way his drained body automatically clenched around it eagerly. 

Iorveth lay down on top of Roche, soaking in the warmth that came off the human, crooning gently as he rocked his hips against Roche, burying himself in his blistering heat. It was his turn to nibble at Roche’s shoulders and his neck as he continued to roll his hips steadily.

“Any chance you can go any faster? Otherwise this will take all night.”

“It might,” Iorveth conceded, smirking at Roche’s grumpy tone, “I already came once, after all. Might take me a while to work back up to it.”

He was rewarded with a groan and snapped his hips a little harder to elicit another one. He hooked his arms under Roche’s armpits, pressed his forehead against the back of Roche’s neck, and started to thrust harder and faster, aroused even further by the wet slap of his balls against Roche’s.

He bit down on the hard muscle of Roche’s shoulder then went limp, huddling for warmth as the heat of his climax receded and he felt the cool air against his sweat-wet skin.

“Happy?”

“Mmm,” Iorveth confirmed, sliding off Roche onto the litter.

Roche rolled over and Iorveth stared in disbelief at his forming erection.

“Gods, _how_?”

“It’s your stupid flower,” Roche grumbled defensively.

“It’s not _my_ flower!” Iorveth huffed and straddled Roche’s hips, rubbing his softening member against the hardening one.

Once he’d stiffened Roche’s resolve enough, he lowered himself onto him, sighing happily at the familiar fullness.

Roche just stared, basking in the heat of Iorveth’s body and the sight of him so obviously enjoying himself. He lay back and let Iorveth ride him savagely, gripping the pillow tightly.

He couldn’t help arching up as he came long and hard.

“How much energy do you dh’oine waste on making this stuff?” Iorveth ground out, exasperated, as he felt yet another spurt of heat, “No wonder your kind are so easy to kill after sex.”

Roche thrust up hard, vindictively pleased that he managed to wring out a few last drops.

Iorveth crumpled on top of him and they lay together, heaving, until Iorveth rolled off.

“We should use better oil next time,” he yawned into Roche’s shoulder.

“What do you mean ‘next time’?” Roche grumbled mildly, stretching out an arm and tucking it under the elf’s head, burying his nose in the dark hair.

He reached over and twitched the blanket over them and they lay there together, bodies drained but minds still alight with the effects of the narcotic.

“Think anyone noticed?”

“Not sure it matters,” Roche grouched, “The bloody Nilfgaardians would probably commend me and give me a promotion if they did find out.”

Iorveth glared malevolently but Roche ignored him, still twining a bit of glossy hair around his finger.

“Besides, we’re allies now.”

“You think it stretches to this sort of thing?”

“Life or death situations? Sure.”

He glanced over at Iorveth, noticed his bandana was askew and reached over to readjust it.

“I meant what I said before,” Iorveth murmured, “You can look, if you want.”

Roche hesitated a moment, stroking a thumb along the high cheekbone, then pushed the fabric up carefully.

His mouth set in a hard line.

“Does it change anything?” Iorveth asked quietly.

“Change what?” Roche asked, securing the bandana back in place, “It’s not like your ears are suddenly shorter or rounder. Not that it was ever about the ears. You’d be impossible even as a human.”

Iorveth toyed with Roche’s hair. It was cut in haphazard tufts interspersed with grey.

“Your hair isn’t that bad, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought you had some kind of disfigurement,” Iorveth shrugged, “Why else would you wear that dishrag?”

“It’s traditional!”

Iorveth shrugged dismissively and yawned, curling up and preparing to go to sleep.

Roche looked over the handsome face, the shoulder polished by lamplight, the long elegant lines of the supine form.

“Iorveth? Can I have you again?”

“ _Again?!_ ” Iorveth spluttered, waking instantly.

He stared at Roche, indignant, saw the hunger in the dark eyes, and despaired at humans and their pathetically sluggish metabolisms.

“Bloede dh’oine,” he finally muttered.

He started to roll over but Roche caught him and slid between his thighs, buried his hands in his hair and held him as he leant in and pushed his tongue into Iorveth’s mouth, pressing against him urgently. They were both exhausted and running on the fumes of that blasted flower but it was enough. Then again, Iorveth sucking on his tongue the way he was doing would have been enough.

Iorveth pulled his knees up then threw his head back, biting his lip, as Roche took him. They fell into an easy rhythm, Roche plundering Iorveth’s mouth in time with his lazy thrusts, only pausing occasionally to mouth his ears and jawline and throat.

Meanwhile, Iorveth hooked his ankles around Roche’s hips, encouraging him to thrust deeper. He raked his nails up and down the broad back and took every chance to bite Roche’s mouth and tongue.

This time they came together, gently, a sure sign that the plant’s effects were waning. 

Roche rolled onto the litter and pulled Iorveth into his arms, shamelessly planting a satisfied kiss on the dark head as he watched Iorveth yawn widely.

“Well, at least we have a few hours to pull ourselves together and sleep before daybreak.”

He hid an answering yawn, pulled the blanket over Iorveth’s shoulder and stood. 

“Gods, that was exhausting,” he said, stretching as he went over to the table, “I’m _starving_. And parched.”

And with that he took a swig straight from the jug.

“ _Roche!_ ”

 

**Epilogue**

 

Ciaran studied the flower Iorveth had handed him.

“This isn’t Flaming Bollockwort, it’s a species of vanilla orchid. The pods are used for flavouring because they contain sweet-tasting oils.”

He gave Iorveth a long look.

“Which is why I suggested they put a couple in the lemonade, I thought it might add interest to the flavour. How was it?”

Iorveth considered.

“Well, it did add interest.”

 


End file.
